


Roman Holiday

by AndImObsolete



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Commoner meets a Princess in disguise, F/M, Fluff, Journalist!Jughead, Princess!Betty, Roman Holiday Inspired, Slow Burn, So many cliches, the 1950s
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-08 13:45:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15244713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndImObsolete/pseuds/AndImObsolete
Summary: She should have everything that a person could ever want and need, but Princess Elizabeth feels trapped in her claustrophobic life.Jughead Jones is a photographer and journalist trapped in Rome, always searching for his big break that will be his ticket out of the country.Two people who would normally never meet suddenly do, and what better place to meet than Rome?





	1. Chapter One

Betty’s feet hurt.

Actually, ‘hurt’ didn’t even come close to describing the utter agony that her feet were in. A walk over hot coals and glass would have hurt less than the pain she was experiencing at this exact point in time. 

The day had been long. So long. In fact it already felt like centuries ago when the royal private plane had landed in Rome rather than just a couple of hours. Even before the doors of the plane with her family’s crest and insignia had opened, a tasteful beige pair of suede shoes were thrust into her hands by the Countess and the simple black ballet flats had been consigned to a handler.

The second she stepped foot on the hot airport tarmac in those beige shoes, the day had been a nonstop whirlwind. The open top car had driven her through the winding streets of Rome, past adoring crowds wanting to see the Princess in the flesh. Once at the embassy it had been a long series of meetings, handshakes and carefully arranged smiles.

All whilst wearing those dammed high heeled shoes.

Then came the five course sit down dinner next to a mind numbingly boring Early of Somewhere. This time in a brand new pair of shoes, even higher than the last so the trim on her periwinkle ballgown didn’t drag unnecessarily on the ground. 

And now after all of that here she was. All eyes trained on her as she stood at the top of the ballroom ready to welcome each member of the royal family and various dignitaries to the ball that had been thrown in her honour at her country’s embassy.

As if this long and arduous day couldn’t get any worse.

Aware that the Countess was next to her, not to mention the eyes of the every single person in the room trained on her, Betty subtly rocked backwards and forwards on the balls of her feet. The relief was brief and fleeting. She tried not to sigh out of sheer exasperation. The Prince of Monaco was next and the least she could do was summon an ounce of cordiality.

This was her first test alone, her parents King Harold and Queen Alice had finally entrusted her to undertake the trip to Rome as sole representation of the family. The Europe tour was crucial for establishing the country on the international stage. 

At first she was excited but then the rigid scheduled had been finalised without so much as her input. Of course, there were many visits to local schools and good causes which were close to Elizabeth’s heart but every second of every day had been accounted for. Nothing was left to chance and there certainly wasn’t any breathing room afforded to her.

Trying to quell a sigh Betty daintily held out her right hand for the next dignitary to air kiss. Was it His Royal Highness of Lichtenstein? Or the Duke of Schleswig-Holstein? Did it even matter at this point?

A brief respite in between dignitaries allowed Betty to risk lifting her left foot out of her shoe. 

Gently turning it left and right again at the ankle gave her a millisecond of pain relief. There wasn’t enough time to slip the shoe back on before the next Royal Highness of Here and There arrived before her. A fine balancing act ensued to wrestle the cursed shoe back onto her foot under her long gown without making it obvious that she was breaking all sorts of royal protocol. 

Even though the Countess next to her couldn’t have seen that Betty was essentially barefoot under her gown, Betty still felt the sharp and disapproving eyes of the Countess on her. Queen Alice had selected a veritable dragon to watch over her youngest daughter and unfortunately for Betty this dragon was taking her role as protector very seriously indeed.

The end of the greeting line was finally in sight. But that didn’t mean Betty was safe just yet. There was still the matter of opening the dancing and waltzing with at least 3 young Princes.

Betty wanted to howl with boredom, not to mention she was exhausted.

The Countess gently nudged Betty’s elbow, giving the signal that it was time to paint on her best smile. Steeling herself Betty descended the stairs, trying not to wince at the pain shooting through her feet.

The dancing was just as painful as standing, it certainly wasn’t helped by the Prince of Monaco’s laboured footwork during the waltz. If Betty’s feet hadn’t been hurting before they certainly would have been numb now. Eric meant well but it was just excruciating. The dance with a Lieutenant Colonel from a far flung country was less painful but Betty found herself being swung around extravagantly, almost knocking into a waiter carrying champagne in crystal glasses.

All the while throughout the dances Betty kept her eyes soft, her smile perfectly placed and her focus on the individual she was dancing with. For all intents and purposes the Princess Elizabeth was the shining start of the night.

But on the inside she felt numb and disassociated. 

The rest of the evening passed in a numbing whirlwind and before she knew it, Betty was sat in a huge four poster bed brushing out her hair, a tray across her lap that held a glass of water and camomile tea. The same tray contents that the Countess had been brining to her bedside for years.

“Tomorrow you’re meeting with the young girls from the St Anne’s Convent school, we’ve selected part of your education speech for after the posy giving.” The Countess looked at Betty over her glasses, tapping her notepad to focus her attention.

“With dedication and steely determination, Europe will excel in its support of young children, especially girls, and create a better future for all.” Betty recited in a monotone sipping her te. 

It was always the same speech, just different crowds and different expectant faces looking up at her. Even though she should have been excited and proud to be in Rome by herself, the truth was that the months of run up to this week had been exhausting. The pressure she felt for this trip had being a weight on her shoulders ever since it had been decided that she was to go by herself. 

Not to mention that ever since her birth she had been reminded constantly of the expectations of not only her family but the whole country. Everything she ever did was examined and re-examined. 

Everything she did mattered and everything she did had to be perfect. There were constantly people around her, she could do nothing on her own. Everything was decided for her, from how she styled her hair to what matching broach she would wear with her day hat. It was excruciating and claustrophobic.

“And you’ll be wearing the soft pink dress with the tiara from your great grandmother tomorrow before your meeting with the press in the early afternoon,” the Countess continued doggedly, even though she could tell Betty clearly had no interest.

“I’d rather wear the emerald dress at the convent,” Betty said from her position against the pillows, as she fixed the Countess with a steely look. She at least wanted to win this battle. For a reason she couldn’t explain, that was important to her. 

“The emerald dress is for your interview with the press pool tomorrow. The green of the dress will be the perfect reflection of the green in the Italian flag.” The Countess snapped her notepad shut signalling the end of discussion.

The anger and panic rose up in Betty. It was just a stupid dress, of which she had so many. Why was it so important that she win this fight? It was just a dress.

The Countess could instantly tell that something was wrong. This was the women who had been by Betty’s side since birth, she knew almost everything about the Princess.

“Princess Elizabeth, you need to calm down.”

But it was too late. The sheer panic began to overwhelm Betty in waves. She couldn’t control her shaking and all she could think about was that horrible soft pink dress and having to wear it in front of all those children with their expectant eyes whilst all of her entourage watched every inch of her movements. She’d had enough.

“No, I’m not doing this!” Betty screamed and before she knew what her body was doing she threw up the silver tray that had been across her lap, sending it spinning off the side of the bed and the tea cup crashing onto the floor into tiny pieces.

“Your highness must calm down, I’m calling for Doctor Steiner.” The Countess barely battered an eyelid and before Betty knew it the Royal Family’s trusted doctor appeared by the door.

Betty jumped out of bed, narrowly avoiding standing on shards of porcelain. 

“I can’t bear this anymore, why does everyone have to control every single part of my life?”

The Doctor advanced cautiously, putting his medicine bag on the side table before gently resting a hand on Betty’s upper arm.

“Your Highness is overwrought after the long journey,” his German accent was reassuring but did nothing to quell the vestiges of the panic attack. “I will give you something to steady your nerves.”

“I don’t need to steady my nerves I just need…” She wasn’t even sure what she needed. All Betty knew was that she was embarrassed at her high pitched voice, embarrassed at having lost her composure, embarrassed to be in this state. She felt so out of control. 

Her hands began to curl up but she stopped herself at the last minute, even in her panicked state she knew that if she drew blood she’d be consigned to wearing gloves all day in the heat tomorrow.

Without a further word the doctor opened his bag and pulled out a fresh needle and small bottle. Before she could protest any further he drew some of the medicine from the vial. Once again all the control lay somewhere other than with her.

In the end the Countess guided Betty back to bed as the Doctor left.

“Tomorrow things will look different,. You’ll see,” she murmured encouragingly as she soothed Betty’s long blonde hair back. Somehow Betty didn’t believe her.

Comforted that the medicine would kick in shortly the Countess dimmed the lights and exited the room, all the while making sure not to turn her back on the Princess Elizabeth.

Finally being alone after a day of being everything but alone, should have been a relief to Betty, but even the medication she had been given couldn’t take the edge of her loneliness and despair.

Almost drunkly, or what Betty supposed would have been drunkly having never even had the opportunity to drink to excess, she stumbled out of bed and tottered to her balcony door, throwing the shutters open. 

There glittering in the dark Italian evening was the world, something she only ever got to see from carriage rides or from cars that were travelling between airports and royal residences. She was so tired of being a passive participant. She was bored of only hearing about real life from the maids that dressed her or from secretly reading the gossip papers.

Betty had had enough of being the spectator in this world. 

It was time to break free and see it for herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bear with me, it's been a while since I've tried my hand at this. Any comments are greatly appreciated :)


	2. Chapter 2

It was ironic really that Forsyth Pendleton Jones the Third was marooned in Rome. 

Even Jughead himself couldn’t have written it better. He struggled with the summer heat at the best of times back home in the States, but in Italy the heat was something quite else.

Jughead exhaled the smoke from his cigarette and loosened the knot of his tie pulling the blasted thing off and shoving it in his back pocket, before stubbing out the cigarette with the toe of his brogues. For some reason even at nearly close to midnight the heat still seemed oppressive and settled heavily around him.

Maybe it was a sign from mother nature that he shouldn’t go back to the poker table where he was currently working through his last remaining Lira. Or maybe it was her way of reminding him that the summers in Upstate New York were marginally less oppressive and that it was finally time for him to make his way home.

Sighing Jughead shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. Rome was spread out in front of him like a twinkling canvas, beautiful and yet unfulfilling. He’d been here too long but saving the money for the flight back home proved challenging. Maybe if he had less of a fondness for poker he would have been on that transatlantic flight long ago. But maybe he was deliberately delaying his departure. Jughead knew he should spend some time on this self reflection but it seemed easier to ignore whatever was bubbling deeper under the surface. Avoidance was a special skill of his. As was running from his problems.

His extended stay in Rome had been an accident. As had his entire arrival in Europe a year or so earlier.

All he had wanted was a fresh start, away from his alcoholic father, the gangs and away from a mother who cared so little for him anyway. Sure, he could have just tried his hand as a journalist in New York. But even a city the size of New York didn’t feel like a suitable enough distraction from everything.

He’d scrimped and saved every last cent that he had earned during his time at the Riverdale Register and finally had bought that one way ticket to London. He thought he’d suit the land of J.R.R Tolkein, E.E Cummings and Shakespeare. But the weather reminded him too much of Riverdale and he could never get used to the traffic being on the wrong side of the road. London just didn’t feel right.

How he’d managed to make the trip to Rome still felt a little like a mystery to him. Unlike London, Rome seemed to feel right. Surrounded by centuries of history he had finally felt inspired. The battered typewriter that was sitting on his desk at 51 Via Margutta had been in constant use for his first 3 months in Rome. It seemed as if years of words suddenly spilled out of him unheeded. His novel suddenly didn’t feel impossible.

But then the cash dried up. Unsurprisingly just being an American writer in Rome didn’t pay the bills and Jughead found himself in a familiar situation, albeit in a different country.

Putting off returning to the poker table, where he no doubt was about to loose again, Jughead pulled out another cigarette. Briefly his mind flashed to his job at the American News Service and Mr Hennessy and to what the morning was to bring. 

He should have been grateful for the man, but Mr Hennessy could smell Jughead’s despair the day he had first shown up at the office. Jughead needed a job and Hennessy knew it. Rather than thrown Jughead a lifeline in the form of some mildly cutting edge journalism, Jughead was instead released to covering the asinine escapades of Europe’s royal darlings. It grated on him to no end and Jughead deliberately pushed at the limits of sabotaging his career with the American News Desk by showing a flagrant disinterest in anything related to any royal families. He knew he was chancing his luck but he almost couldn’t bring up the energy to care.

Hennessy knew Jughead couldn’t go elsewhere and Jughead needed this gig to fund his eventual return back to America. 

Exhaling the cigarette smoke through his nose, Jughead flicked the cigarette butt over the side of the balcony and steeled himself to return back to the living room behind him.

“Come on Jug we’re waiting for you!”

Pushing the veranda doors aside Jughead scanned the room to see who was still left standing at this late hour of the evening. As was expected, Archie Andrews showed no signs of wrapping things up for the night as he swept up his winnings from three disgruntled Italians and two other American friends. 

The only redeeming thing about Rome, apart from the pasta and pizza, was Archie Andrews. 

Somehow Americans always had a way of finding each other no matter where they went in the world. Archie had been studying at law school back home in the States; but his free spirit had seized control, and just a few months before he was due to finish his last year at school Archie had packed up his bag and his guitar and hotfooted it Europe.

He and Jughead met on a platform at Gare de Lyon in Paris. Both wayward Americans not quite living their European dream, bonded by a sense of homesickness but also reluctance to face the music back at home. Archive was making his way to Italy in desperate pursuit of a dark haired actress he’d chanced across whilst in the 19th Century French Paintings Gallery at the Louvre with whom he’d fallen in love with instantaneously. Jughead had nowhere else to go, and if he’d disliked London it was nothing compared with his distaste for Paris. Tagging along with Archie to Rome had seemed like a good idea at the time. 

So here he was, standing in the smoke filled living room in Archie’s tiny apartment, if you could even call it that, a year later. Poorer than when he had first arrived but at least hopefully leaving soon with a partially completed novel.

“Jug you in for another round?” Archie asked knocking back a glass of red wine.

“You know what Arch, I think I’m done for tonight.” The rent was due on his place and at this stage of the night at least he’d have enough money for a cab. If he stayed he definitely wouldn’t be able to pay the rent and he’d have a long walk home. “You know I have the press pool interview tomorrow with that Princess visiting from some country or other.”

“Aw come on Jug it’s not like you care about that,” Archie scoffed as a dealt a fresh hand for the group. “Hennessy is just messing with you on this one because he knows you hate those features.”

Of course Archie was right. Hennessy knew Jughead detested writing what was essentially a gossip column. The Princesses and Princes who visited Rome never had anything interesting to say. They came with the scripts and everything was timed and tailored to perfection. Nothing of great journalistic interest for Jughead there.

Jughead just clapped Archie on the shoulder as he made his way to the door. Understanding what Jughead meant without having to hear him say it Archie gave him a sympathetic look.

“You know where I am if you need me man, or if you change your mind.”

Knowing he was in danger of doing just that, Jughead firmly closed the door behind him.

Allegedly New York was the city that never slept, but even at midnight Rome still buzzed with some activity. Taxis rushed past him, the horns of scooters sounded and the classic Italian backdrop of loud family conversations filtered through the night.

Dreading having to go home only to wake up for the mind numbing royal press conference a few hours later, Jughead put off the inevitable a little longer and lit up another cigarette. As he was contemplating whether he should save himself the liras and walk home instead of the taxi, his eye landed on what looked like a young blonde woman lying on her front, asleep on the bench just a few feet away from him. 

He slowly hedged closer to make sure that she was alright. 

“Delighted to meet you, how are you this evening?” She drawled her words out in a heavy slur as she turned her head to the side, resting it on a light colours glove.

Jughead slowed his steps and considered walking past her. Really this wasn’t something he should involve himself on.

“How do you do, delighted,” the young woman slurred again. But this time she went to turn again and in the process nearly rolled off the bench.

Jughead sprang forward and prevented the tumble by grabbing hold of her shoulders and turning her onto her back.

“Hey, wake up,” Jughead tapped her face lightly but the blonde kept her eyes closed.

“Charmed,” she drawled as she stuck her right hand outwards him.

This evening was becoming stranger by the minute.

“Charmed too,” Jughead said wryly as he lightly grasped the fingers of her raised hand and shook it.

Her eyes suddenly opened, revealing startlingly clear green eyes.

“You may sit down,” she said waving her hand regally around her. 

“I think you better sit up, it’s not safe at this time of the night.” Jughead helped her to a sitting position and was slightly nervous as to how much she was still swaying. “You know people who can’t handle their liquor really shouldn’t drink.” 

He’d seen enough of his father acting out to understand what was going on here. He sat down beside her, at least this way he could hold her up easily. 

“But I only had one glass of champagne during the reception,” she mumbled into his shoulder.

“That may be the case but clearly it was one too many.”

Jughead looked around to see if she’d been part of a group of friends who may have accidentally left her behind, or if there was a boyfriend. Contemplating this Jughead thought that any man who left a young woman stranded on a bench in a clearly vulnerable state, didn’t deserve to call himself a gentleman.

At a loose end Jughead weighed up his options. All he really wanted to do was go home and catch a few hours of sleep and not get caught up in this kind of predicament. 

His decision was made up for him when a text sped past. She wasn’t his responsibility so why should he care? Whistling for it, the taxi came to an abrupt stop in front of them.

About to climb into the taxi Jughead was suddenly overwhelmed by a stab of conscious that surprised him with its force.

“Look you get this cab,” he said to her holding the door open only for the blonde to slump back down face first onto the bench. The taxi driver caught Jughead’s eye and sighed deeply. 

Jughead went over to pull her off the bench, she seemed unsteady on her feet and had trouble holding her head up. It all left a bitter taste in his mouth and gave him flashbacks to having to help his father when he’d had a particularly bad spell. 

“Look I’ll drop you off. You got enough money on you?”

“I never carry cash.” Even in her drunken state she looked at him with incredulity, as if it was the stupidest question he’d ever asked.

Somehow he managed to manoeuvre her into the taxi where she promptly slumped against the window of the backseat.

“So where do you live?” Jughead asked as he mentally added up how much he could actually spare for the taxi fare. 

“The colosseum,” she said on a yawn, her eyes dropping closed again.

Jughead saw the taxi driver raise his eyebrows in the rearview mirror. 

“Look even you can’t be that drunk,” Jughead said with some exasperation. If he hadn’t got caught up in this, he’d already be in bed by now.

“You’re so silly, I’m not at all drunk.”

Jughead doubted that very much. Clearly she didn’t live at the colosseum, and she had no purse on her that would give him any clues. That only left one option.

“Via Margutta 52 please driver.”

Arriving in front of Via Margutta with the screeching of the brakes, Jughead jumped out of the taxi. The blonde was now in a deep sleep.

“Look, when she wakes up you take her where she wants to go,” Jughead said trying not to grimace as he handed over the fare.

“My taxi isn’t for sleeping,” came the consternated reply with a heavy Italian accent. “She’s not my problem, she yours.”

That was becoming more and more apparent to Jughead as the minutes wore on. Fighting it seemed futile. He wasn’t sure how he got himself into these situations, Archie was going to love this in the morning.

Somehow, much like the battle of getting her into the taxi, Jughead managed to get her up the stairs into the apartment. It took a gentle tap to the face to wake her up and he then frog marched her up the stairs making sure she didn’t fly flat on her face. Trying to hold her up and wrestle his door open was the final hurdle.

“Is this the elevator?” She asked, her eyes half open as she stood in the middle of his admittedly tiny apartment. “I’m sorry to mention it, but the dizziness is getting worse.” She clutched the metal bed frame to stop her from falling over as Jughead tried to find a glass of water in some attempt to sober her up.

“Could I sleep here?” The a yet still nameless blonde asked. “I’d appreciate it if you could fetch my silver nightgown with the rosebuds on it.” 

Jughead was walking towards the wardrobe but turned around and squarely looked her in the eyes. This entire debacle was getting stranger by the minute.

“You’ll have to rough it in these, I’m sorry but I haven’t worn a nightgown in years.” Jughead said wryly as he pressed a pair of striped pyjamas into her small hands.

“Pyjamas! I’ve never worn pyjamas before.” The slur on her words was getting worse again. “Will you help me get undressed?”

She stood primly in front of him, as if it was a regular occurrence that people helped her in and out of her clothes. Really, this was now too much for Jughead. All he had wanted to do was make sure she was safe so he could get her where she needed to be tomorrow. This was now becoming quite something else. 

Against his better judgement, Jughead pulled the pyjama shirt straight over the blue shirt she was already wearing.

“There you go, you can figure out the rest.” 

“This is all very unusual,” she drawled as she toed of her flat shoes. “I’ve never been alone with a man even with my dress on. With my dress of it’s really most unusual. I don’t think I mind…”

That was the final nail in the coffin for him.

“You know what, I’m going to get a coffee. You can sleep here.” Jughead deliberately steered her away from his bed and instead gently pushed her over to the day sofa that was pushed up against the wall away from his bed. He wasn’t completely heartless so threw a spare pillow and blanket over the makeshift bed. “I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

She was partially turned away from him but he could see from her side profile that she was looking at the pyjama pants in awe.

“You just pull them on,” Jughead said gently, his hand on the door handle ready to leave.

“Thank you, you have my permission to leave,” she said loftily over her shoulder with a regal wave of the hand.

Jughead couldn’t help but laugh as he closed the door behind him. All thoughts of sleep had left him. He knew that the bar on the corner served espressos no matter the time and right now that’s what he needed.

As Jughead walked down the stairs of his apartment building playing the end to this evening over and over in his mind, across town at the Embassy the entire staff and royal household was in uproar.

The Princess Elizabeth, who had been given heavy medication to help her sleep through her panic attack, had gone missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always appreciated! Thanks for all the love so far!


End file.
